


Tantrum

by conceptofzero



Series: Proxy [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hasn’t been a very good day. Droog has his newspaper open, but he’s barely reading it, more or less using it as a shield to keep from having to put up with Slick. Usually, Slick just bitches and gripes and moans and makes himself in a fucking nuisance. But he’s tired and cranky, and pissed at how last night turned out, so instead of the usual early morning bitching, he and the other two are getting a full dose of Spades Slick: Freakout Asshole Extraordinaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tantrum

It hasn’t been a very good day. They’re all exhausted from the night before, and a bank heist that not only failed but ended up costing them money when they blew a tire on the get-away. Deuce keeps staring into space, completely oblivious to all happening around him. Hearts is silent and sullen, pushing his breakfast around his plate like its particularly unpalatable today. Droog has his newspaper open, but he’s barely reading it, more or less using it as a shield to keep from having to put up with Slick.

Slick’s throwing a tantrum. Usually, Slick just bitches and gripes and moans and makes himself in a fucking nuisance. But he’s tired and cranky, and pissed at how last night turned out, so instead of the usual early morning bitching, he and the other two are getting a full dose of Spades Slick: Freakout Asshole Extraordinaire.

"This is the worst fucking breakfast you've ever made," Slick tells Boxcars. It's not Boxcars' best effort, but it certainly isn't anything compared to the consistently awful fare that Slick churns out when it's his turn to cook, "I wouldn't feel this shit to a dog!"

"Well it ain't meant to be fed to dogs, it's meant to be fed to us," Boxcars growls back. He might not be eating it either, but that doesn't mean he'll sit back and take. Droog knows better than to insult the man's cooking, even if it is lackluster this morning.

Of course, Slick never knows when to keep his mouth shut, especially when he's tired and pissy. He gets right in Boxcar's face. Droog can't actually see what's happening, but it's easy enough to guess. After all, he's seen this all go down a hundred times before, "This shit is poison, and I'm not fucking eating it!"

"Nobody said you had'ta eat it," If Boxcars takes a swing at Slick, Droog won't blame him. Droog would consider doing it himself, but that would mean admitting that he's listening to anything coming out of Slick's mouth, "Make your own damn food if you want somethin' different."

"Yeah you'd fucking like that, wouldn't you?" The more he speaks, the more irritating he becomes. Slick isn't going to stop until all three of them are pissed off. That's an easy enough accomplishment when it comes to Droog, but he really has to try to get Boxcar's dander up, not to mention Deuce who's usually too stupid to be mad.

"Yeah, I would! Then you'd get off of my back!" That does it. Boxcars loses his temper. Sadly, he doesn't punch Slick right in his piehole. Instead, he just slams his cup down and the table shakes. Droog turns the page, focusing on the editorial cartoon. It's a grotesque caricature of Mayor Visionary sitting at his desk. Perhaps the saddest thing is that it doesn't appear to be deliberately insulting, but the art style has certainly given the message an entirely different tone.

"You lazy asshole, you're doing this on purpose to get out of making breakfast! That's not going to fucking work! You fuckers need to pull your weight around here! And I'm talking you too Droog!" Slick's voice gets even shriller as he presumably looks in Droog's direction, "You know what you fucking did? You moved my fucking sheet music!"

Droog has not moved Slick's sheet music. That would mean stepping into Slick's room, which is a disaster and a pigpen, and he has no desire to do that. If Slick wants to sleep in filth, he's free to do so. But Droog isn't about to subject himself to the same mess.

“Don’t hide behind that fucking paper when I’m talking to you!" Droog ignores Slick’s demands, continuing to stay safely behind the broadsheet. He idly notes that the Tenacious Scrivener is once again using the editorial section to attack the Verbose Litigant. That’s fine. The more Midnight City’s two reporters stay at each other’s throats, the less likely they are to remember they’re meant to be reporting, “And where the fuck are you going?! I’m not done with you either!”

“Fuck off Slick,” Boxcars growls, kicking his chair over on the ground and stomping to the exit. He grabs his jacket off the coat rack and climbs up, just heading out to who knows where. Lucky bastard. Droog may be following him sooner rather than later.

“YEAH? FUCK YOU TOO! YOU’RE OUT OF THE FUCKING CREW!” Slick screams up at Boxcars and Droog’s knuckles clench in the paper. He focuses on the wall of words. Droog prefers the Alternia Free Press to the Midnight Star for a number of reasons, the most important being it’s ability to hide Slick from sight, and it’s rather generic headlines that don’t tend to send Slick into a frenzy the moment he sees them.

Of course, that doesn’t matter because Slick’s in a frenzy over everything right now. Droog can’t believe he’s actually lowered himself to Slick’s standards and had a threesome with that idiot. They haven’t had much time to talk about it, not with how busy they’ve been. He hasn’t had any time to slip off and see Snowman either. He’ll have to fix the latter soon, and maybe the former, once Slick stops being such an unreasonable cunt.

Droog can’t see, but he knows what’s happening when Slick suddenly changes targets again, leaning in close to Deuce, “What the fuck are you looking at? Come on, answer me! What the fuck’s wrong with you? Did your remaining brain cells burn out?” Slick snaps his fingers and Droog rolls his eyes, “Come on fuckhead, answer me! Hey!”

Slick slams his fist on the table, and suddenly Droog finds himself with a lap full of coffee. He drops the newspaper and scrambles away from the table. Droog’s lucky, and the coffee’s only mildly warm, and mostly over his thighs. But his pants are utterly ruined. Droog looks down at them, and the last little remaining patience just snaps.

“Way to fucking go asshole, just leave your coffee right by the edge of the table-” Slick’s mouth stops running when Droog lunges at him, quickly swapping from angry to terrified instead. Droog’s quick when he’s furious, and he easily catches Slick, slamming him face-first on the table. It’s easy to get one of Slick’s arms twisted behind his back, the other hand resting on Slick’s neck and keeping him pinned there, “Ow!! You piece of shit-”

“Listen carefully,” Droog tells Slick, leaning in close to talk to him. His hand holds onto the back of Slick’s neck tight enough that he could snap it if he felts like it. There’s a cold anger burning in his chest, but more than that, a wicked sort of lust that reminds Droog of all the things they said last time they were in bed together, “You have been a pain in my ass all morning. I told you what would happen next time you acted like this.”

“What the fuck are you going on about? Let me up you stupid fucking-” Slick’s rant is cut short when Droog’s hips nudge into Slick’s, and he suddenly gets quiet, at least for a few seconds. But then, he opens up his mouth again and out spews another round of whining fury, “You stupid fucking asshole, get off of me! You may be fucking desperate but I’m not! The last thing I want is your dick anywhere near me!”

Droog just pressed his weight down on Slick again, making sure that this time, he’s leaning down hard enough to make it difficult to breathe, "I don't care what you want. I have put up with what you want all morning. We're talking about what I want now."

Slick squirms underneath Droog, "You pathetic piece of shit, you're really going to do this because I spilt coffee on your fucking pants? Fuck you!"

"No Slick, fuck you," Droog shoves his hips against Slick's ass and grinds. After listening to Slick whine and bitch and moan all morning, Droog feels he has more than earned the right to do this. Slick curses up a storm, squirming around under Droog and it just makes it better.

"You stupid piece of shit, get the fuck off of me! You fucking bastard, I can feel you getting off on this! Fuck you, and fuck your stupid fucking jackets and your shitty ties, and your stupid fucking hat, the stupidest fucking hat in the whole fucking world-" Slick spits out the words, and it becomes pretty clear that Slick's getting off on it too, his ass deliberately grinding back into Droog's cock, "I fucking hate you and your stupid fucking smug douche face! You've been just dreaming of this fucking moment since we left that hotel room! You're pathetic, really fucking pathetic-"

Slick's snarling comes to an abrupt end as Droog lets go of Slick's neck and slides his hand underneath Slick, cupping his crotch and squeezing. Of course Slick's already hard, and his hips buck into Droog's hand. Droog's hand slips up to Slick's belt, and with a little fumbling he gets it open, and shoves Slick's pants down. They slide right down his legs, nothing to hold them up once they're past the hips, and they hit the floor with a clatter. He keeps his grip on Slick's arm though, making sure it's pinned tight against Slick's back as Droog starts on his own pants.

"Fucking asshole, let go of my arm! You're going to break it off! Or are you too fucking afraid of what I'll do to you if I get up? Go on, fucking try and hold me down," He starts up again, his bare ass rubbing up against Droog. Droog doesn't have any lube on him, not planning on fucking Slick this morning, and he scans the table for something to use. It's all horribly inappropriate, stuff that will just cause more trouble than it's worth. Instead, he settles for spitting on his hand and wetting his cock with that. Slick keeps shoving back, impatient as ever, "The moment I'm out of this I'm going to fucking wring your neck and gouge your fucking eyes out- ah! Fuck!"

Slick's rant is interrupted as Droog presses the head of his cock against Slick's entrance and starts shoving inside. It's no easy task when Slick's not even slightly prepared, and he's all tensed up. But Droog is persistent and Slick eases up as Droog relaxes his grip on Slick's arm. He slowly slides in, burying himself inside of Slick's incredibly tight ass. It's fucking amazing, like being held snug in a vice. "If I had another cock, I'd shove it in your mouth."

"Fuck you," He hisses, squirming against the table. It's so clear how fucking much Slick wants this, even if he's still pretending to resist. A quick slip of the hand underneath Slick reveals that he's hard enough to break bricks, and he thrashes when Droog lightly touches Slick's cock before drawing his hand back, "You fucking piece of shit!"

"Not yet," Droog draw out a little, just enough to get a nice solid thrust in. Slick nearly howls, scrabbling at the table to hold on tight. His hands settle on Slick's hips, holding them still and using them as leverage as he does it again, ever so slowly sliding in and out of Slick. He's so fucking hot and tight, and the way he's squirming is certainly appealing. "How about you tell me how much you want this first."

"Eat shit and die, I'm not saying a fucking thing," Slick snarls, voice wavering as Droog ever so steadily fucks him. His own hands clutch onto the table, spazzing and seizing with every hard thrust in. "Ah- you fucking dick!"

Droog looks up and realizes that Deuce is still sitting at the table, silently watching them with that dazed look on his face. He can't tell if Deuce is registering anything he's seeing or if he's just staring into space. Either way, he's not letting this go on. He lifts one hand from Slick’s hips, snapping his fingers until Deuce focuses, “Hey. Go to your room.”

“’kay,” Deuce mutters and climbs off of his chair, shuffling zombie-like to his room. It's only when the door clicks shut that Droog turns his attention back to the matter at hand.

Slick raises his head, face red and sweat collecting at the edges of his joints. "Did he really just fucking sit there? What a fucking idiot. Why the fuck do we even have that useless piece of shit in the gang?"

Droog's only response is another hard thrust that makes Slick snarl, hips bucking back against Droog. Slick's still trying to keep up the charade but he's failing miserably at it. With each thrust from Droog, Slick shoves back, trying to change the pace to suit him instead of Droog. Slick raises his head again and Droog shoves it back against the table, giving another good hard thrust as he does. "Stay down."

"Fuck you, you fucking douchenozzle, get your fucking hands off me!" Slick claws at Droog's hand awkwardly, trying to get it off his head. Droog does let go of Slick, but only so he can grab Slick's hands and pin them behind his back. He stops thrusting and just watches Slick go. Slick squirms and thrashes around underneath Droog, just driving himself further onto Droog's cock. His mouth keeps running steadily. "Fuck you fuck you fuck you!"

Droog just patiently waits for Slick to realize that Droog's not thrusting anymore. It takes him a while to figure this out, and Droog just takes the time to enjoy how much he enjoys seeing Slick bent over like this. The thought of taking orders from him is a lot more tolerable with the knowledge that Slick has, and will be, on his hands and knees for Droog.

Slick finally stops squirming, turning his head as much as he can to glare up at Droog. "What the fuck are you doing? This isn't some sort of spectator sport!"

"If you want it, you're going to have to beg for it," Droog grins as Slick sneers, both flashing their teeth at each other.

"I'll chew my own fingers off before I beg you for fucking anything you worthless piece of shit!" Slick stays still, but it's a losing battle. Droog's good where he is, Slick tightening around his cock and feeling fantastic. But Slick's a needy bastard and there's no way he can survive just laying here with a cock in his ass, each twitch clearly driving him insane. Slick slams his head against the table as it becomes too much for him. "You'll fucking pay for this! I'm going to rake you over the fucking coals! I'm going to pull your head off your shoulders and I'm going to put it on a fucking stick and then I'm going to piss all over every single one of your fucking suits-gaakk-"

Droog leans forward, sinking his cock into Slick as deeply as he can and pinning their hips against the table. There's nowhere for Slick to go, pinned in place by Droog's cock and the breakfast table. Slick chokes softly, and Droog knows his cock must be pressing hard against his prostate. Droog leans in close, and his own voice waivers so slightly as he speaks. "You're going to beg for me to fuck you. And you will won't touch any of my stuff. Do you understand?"

"Y- yes," Slick spits the words like they're poison. Droog wants to do nothing so much as reach under Slick and touch his cock, just to see how fucking hard Slick is. But he keeps holding onto Slick's arms, keeping him pinned in place.

"Good," Droog's lips brush up against the side of Slick's head, and Slick shudders at the touch. "Now. Ask for it."

Slick squeezes his eyes tight and says nothing at first. But Droog's buried inside of him, and Slick's face is burning up, blood churning around beneath the shell. He barely hears it when Slick's mouth opens and he speaks. "Fuck me."

"Again," Droog prompts. "Louder."

"Fuck me," Slick raises his voice, hands clenching between Droog and Slick. Droog simply squeezes his wrists and pulls back a little, driving his cock right back in and watching Slick's eyes go wide. "Fuck! Fff. Fuck me."

"That's good," Droog backs off of Slick, but he keeps those hands pinned behind Slick's back. His thrusts are slow but ever so deep, and Slick's eyes look like they'll pop out of his head. He fucks Slick with his usual perfect timing, making sure to hit that little gem of a spot every time. Slick's feet scrape at the ground as he looks for more traction, and his face is flushed as bright as it can go.

He fucks Slick at a snail's pace. It's torture for Droog too, but he can handle it. Slick, on the other hand, looks like his head is about to pop open. His breathing is rough and irregular, and he keeps trying to shove back against Droog. It's hard though when Droog's keeping his thrusts slow and he's not giving Slick much room to work with. Slick squeezes his eyes tight and starts cursing again. "Fuck fuck fuck! Fucking bastard dick FUCK!"

"Patience," Droog grins as Slick curses more, lashing out at the table. A plate falls off and shatters as Slick squirms around. The table slides forward, not by much, but just a little, and then Slick's shoving himself back onto Droog's cock, fucking himself as quickly and eagerly as he can. Droog's caught off-guard, and he gives in for a moment, letting Slick get away with rutting back against Droog and doing all the work.

There's sweat rolling down Slick's face, and though Droog's cock is getting worked over, he still manages to spare some attention for the way Slick looks right now. His face is all twisted up with pleasure, and for once, it isn't covered in that usual smug shit-eating grin of his. Slick tightens up around Droog and he knows he has to take control back. He shoves Slick back down against the table, kicking Slick's legs apart again and breaking his stance. Droog shoves inside of Slick and forces him to stay still as he returns to the slow pace, getting a hold of himself again. Slick isn't too happy with that. "You son of a bitch!!"

"You know what you have to say if you want me to go faster," Droog commits this to memory. Next time Slick's tearing him a strip, he'll think of this and exactly how desperate Slick was beneath him. Slick's pride is getting in the way, but it won't stay there long. As much as Slick likes to think highly of himself, he's willing to compromise on damn near anything when he wants to get off.

And that's exactly what Slick does, begrudgingly saying what he has to. "Fuck me faster."

"Say please," Droog sees how far he can go. Slick just glares up at him with that look on his face that says that begging is one thing, but manners are another fucking thing altogether. Droog lets it slide, finally giving Slick what he's been aching for.

He lets go of Slick's hands, trading them for a solid grip on the hips, and finally gets down to business. Droog's relieved to be able to fuck at a pace that he wants and he does, his cock thrusting into Slick double-time to make up for the earlier slowness. Slick holds onto the edge of the table for dear life, and his usual motormouth is replaced with steady stream of moans and grunts, too needy to even pretend that he doesn't want this.

Droog tightens his hands, leaning in again until he's flush with Slick's back, his hips still jerking forward and his cock driving into Slick. "The next time I see Snowman, I'm going to tell her all about this."

"You fuck!" Slick spits out, but there's a look in his eye. He's clearly excited by the idea, even if he's still desperately holding up that front of his. "If you say anything-"

"While she's riding my cock, I'm going to tell her exactly how fucking desperate you were, how you begged me to fuck you," Slick tightens around him and Droog has to take a breath before he can speak again. "She'll ask for a demonstration, and we both know you'll be all too happy to bend over for us, just so she can watch me fuck you in the ass again."

"Fuck fuck-" Slick grinds his forehead against the table, and Droog gets the shock of his life as Slick's face screws up and he comes. He clenches around Droog, going tighter than a vice, and a strangled scream comes tumbling out of his mouth. Droog's outright shocked. He hasn't even touched Slick's cock, except just to make sure he was hard.

One hand leaves Slick's hip and feels around underneath. Slick twitches as Droog touches him and moans helplessly, but he's already spent. He laughs, barely keeping it together. "I'm going to tell her all about how you came without even being touched."

"F-fuck," He can barely put the word together. Slick's a mess, a flushed nearly drooling, can't-string-words-together mess. It may be the hottest thing he's seen in weeks. Slick's completely limp, just laying on the table. Droog's got to use his grip on Slick's hips to keep them up so he can keep fucking him. Slick's legs just dangle down and he tightens around Droog irregularly, the aftershocks running through his body playing hell with Droog. Each thrust becomes a little more unbearable, a little closer to orgasm, and Droog keeps fucking him hard. Slick's mouth is open as he pants to catch his breath, desperate, ragged groans falling out. Droog simply can't take it any more.

He pulls out, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking it. Droog usually aims for the face or breasts, but Slick's face down on the table, and Droog's honestly too close to the edge to even think about dragging Slick closer and trying to keep him upright while coming on his face. He settles for what's right in front of him; Slick's ass, red and plump from being fucked. Droog jerks off as quickly as he can, eyes narrowing to slits as he looks down at his handiwork. Slick's mouth falls open as he pants, and Droog's staring at those open lips as he comes, splattering Slick's backside.

Droog has to grab onto a chair to stay upright, his body shivering with each stroke. He manages to keep somewhat composed, at least compared to Slick, and he turns his head to the side, muffling his grunts into his shoulder. It's only when he's spent that he sits on the chair, catching his breath and soaking in the bliss of afterglow. Slick's still out of it, sprawled over the table, a patch of white on the floor just beneath Slick.

He stands, tugging his pants up and tucking his cock back into his trousers. The pants are still wet with coffee, though now they're cold instead of hot. He really needs to soak these right away. Droog doesn't bother doing anything with Slick, leaving him sprawled there. He can get himself up. Or he can lay there and wait for Boxcars to come back home. Droog walks around the table.

"Nnng," Slick says, raising his head. He's hoarse and tired, and his mouth has a little drool on the side. The temptation to get his dick out and stick it in is overwhelming, but he's had enough of Slick for the moment. "Y-you. Asshole."

"You remember this the next time you start flipping the fuck out while I'm eating breakfast. Because next time? I won't even wait for Boxcars to leave," Droog leans in nice and close while lecturing Slick. Slick just stares at Droog with those glossy eyes of his, so well fucked that he can barely focus. It's all too tempting. Droog leans in and kisses Slick on the mouth, hard and fast. He digs his teeth into Slick's mouth, drawing blood before standing up. Slick licks his lips but doesn't move, still too fucked up to do anything but run his tongue over his mouth. Droog picks up his newspaper and heads for the laundry room, not bothering to look back at Slick as he leaves.

Deuce is in the hall. Looks like he didn't actually go into his room. Droog stops and glares down at him. Deuce just looks up at Droog anxiously. "You aren't going to do that to me, are you?"

"No. Get out of here," He shoos Deuce off, smacking him upside the head with the newspaper, and Deuce goes running for it. Droog shakes his head and continues to the laundry room. He could really use a smoke right now, and luckily, there's a pack hidden in there that Slick hasn't found yet.

What started out as an absolutely shitty day has rapidly gone uphill. Maybe later, once he's got these trousers soaking, he'll get dressed and go find Snowman. No reason to delay on letting her know how much of a bitch Slick is, or how satisfying it is to make that fucker beg.


End file.
